ukulele strings and christmas bells
by Never the End127
Summary: The team indulges in self-depricating humor and tacky Christmas decorations.


**Hello! I am violently ill and unable to sleep, so I've been writing a lot. Pure fluff, mostly between Fitz and Skye and Bobbi. Not really sure what the point of this fic was... eh, I have a high fever, we'll blame it on that. Merry Early Christmas!**

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><p>Bobbi stands beneath her, staring up at her skeptically while holding the precariously balanced ladder steady.<p>

Skye clutches in vain at the light fixture, trying to twist a garland of greenery and fairy lights around the suspension- if she could just get the damn thing to stay in one place...

Bobbie clears her throat tentatively. "Skye... it's sweet of you to want to help, but don't you think this project is..."

"A trifle excessive?" Hunter supplies helpfully.

Bobbi glares at him. "I was going to say overly ambitious."

"Same difference, love." Hunter shrugs, moving forwards to help steady the ladder Skye may or may not have stolen from Fitzsimmons' lab.

Although they're really more of Fitz (space) Simmons now; they've been distant and awkward since... well, since Ward happened.

Skye's not stupid. Maybe slightly illiterate, with an expired drivers license and an inability to divide fractions- but she's not stupid. She knows when someone's trying to distract her.

Coulson is trying to keep her out of the loop, not over burdening her with mission-agency-stuff. Trying to keep her too distant and too busy to ask questions.

And that's fine. God knows Skye could use a distraction.

Except that the fairy lights are being a total bitch, and no matter how much glue she uses she can't get the angel tree-topper's head to stay on.

"Skye, honey. Maybe it's time to take a break?" Bobbi suggests kindly.

Skye ignores them all, instead giving the strand of lights a final tug that sends the entire fixture clattering down onto the coffee table.

Well, that settles it. Christmas is cancelled, that's all there is to it.

Simmons is in the kitchen, the happy whirring of the ancient blender clearly signifying that the woman was making a third attempt at eggnog. This was just sad.

"Why don't you help Fitz put up the tree, Skye?" Bobbi reaches forwards to unburden her of a basket of fragile, expensive-looking christmas bulbs.

Garland. Tinsel. Bulbs. Probably safe for her to be handling.

And boy, she was wrong. The bus is littered with far too-many Christmas ornaments- tastefull trinkets and baubles and lights, woven in with a mess of tacky, nineteen fifties crap and pinecones covered in glitter.

It smells familiar- dusty, sharp and subtle, like old cardboard and nutmeg. Like the orphanage at Christmas.

Skye has the sudden urge to hug something. She's just about to squash it down and go back to wrangling the decorations when someone grabs her round the waist, tugging her back into the small living area.

That Christmas/Hawiian monstrosity is playing on the radio, and when Fitz spins her around and starts dancing Skye wonders if the man has legitimately lost his mind.

But then Bobbi starts to laugh and cheer, and Simmons 'awws' from the kitchen and Skye giggles.

Fitz looks a little nervous, and she can tell this wasn't pre-meditated. He just needs some relief. Needs to screw off and act ridiculous and pretend they're not constantly in danger of being blown out of the sky, or something equally nerve-wracking.

And Skye's recently met up with her lunatic father who wants her to blow up the world or whatever- in all honesty, she kind of drifted off during that part of the conversation.

So hey. Stress relief.

Fitz and Skye clasp hands and shimy back and forth, awkward and uncoordinated and it's absolutely mortifying, but that's kind of the point. He spins her under his arm and she twirls, hitting her knees off the coffee table and getting tangled up in those god damn fairy lights strewn across the floor, and even May is chuckling.

They spin again, and they're probably (definitely) doing this backwards, except it's kind of on purpose now because they've got a friendly audience celebrating their every mistake. Simmons has finally (thank God) given up on her health-recipe for eggnog, and they've even coaxed a few grins from the science stiffs who have been filling in for Mack in the labs.

They go through the paces of ballroom dancing, seventies disco and a bizarre immitation of the Charleston that Coulson will later refer to as 'disturbing' and 'a crime against humanity.'

The revolting mix of ukelele strings and Christmas bells are roaring through the static, and Skye and Fitz dance until their sides ache with laughter and their friends run out of video space.


End file.
